Metal Urge (16 page)

Nigel shrugged and picked up his empty glass, “I’ll get the next round.”  He started to get up but Nick stopped him.

“It’s my turn. Besides, you bloody well deserve a free drink after the way Thom McCordy bit your head off earlier.”

Before Nigel could say anything more, Nick was on his way to the bar to buy another round.  No doubt Nick would ask for an explanation of Thom’s reaction to his question about Deanna.  He didn’t really wish to go into anything that personal with Nick---they hardly knew each other---but it might help to talk to someone who didn’t have a stake in his and Thom’s relationship like their mates in Metal Urge undoubtedly did.  He steeled himself for Nick’s return formulating in his mind what he would tell his new drinking mate about his failed involvement with the beautiful American who had stolen his heart; a feat he never imagined any other woman capable of since his lovely, mad, Chloe some six years earlier.  He shook his head and sighed.  They were just kids.  Who could have known that such an unspeakable tragedy would be born of their innocent and naïve love?

Just as Nigel predicted, Nick was curious about the American bird that had sent Thom into a jealous rage, shouting loud enough to be heard over the din inside of the pub even though he was only inches from Nigel’s startled face.  Careful not to disclose any sensitive details, Nigel gave him the abridged version.

Nick took a long drink of his foamy lager and smacked his lips. “I’m a bit disappointed, mate.”

“What d'you mean?”

Nick draped his arm around Nigel’s shoulder and pointed at a group of reasonably good-looking ladies sitting at a nearby table.  “I thought you'd be the perfect bloke to go fox hunting with.  Footloose and fancy free as they say in the States.  But it seems you‘ve been smitten just like my old mate, Piper.”

Nigel couldn’t help but laugh at the look of disappointment on Nick’s face.  “What happened to Piper?  I heard the two of you were notorious ladies men.”

Grinning, Nick removed his arm from Nigel’s shoulder and stood up to take off his leather jacket. “We were legendary in the Black Country and Essex.”

“Essex?”  Nigel laughed.  “Go on then, tell us what happened.”

Nick settled back against the cushioned seat and sighed, “Alas, Piper was shot in the heart by cupid’s love arrow and recently moved in with his new lady love, a lingerie model named Candy.

“You're jokin’,” Nigel chuckled.  “Candy?  Hmmm, she must be quite tasty on the tongue.  A bit sweet, a bit tart, and deliciously wet and sticky in the center, yeah?”

“One lick and you'll be begging for more,” Nick grinned wickedly.

The two men burst into raucous laughter, elbowing each other as they slopped lager all over the table and themselves.  Nigel tried to soak up the mess with napkins, still snickering over their crude references to Candy.

Nick batted his eyelashes and grinned, “You wouldn’t happen to know of a love-sick singer in need of a place to live?  He would have his own bedroom with a private loo and garage parking.”

“Well…,” Nigel began but Nick interrupted, trying to sweeten the deal.

“The rent is cheap for the area, and there's an option to sublet if it doesn’t work out.  We wouldn’t be obligated to honor the lease as long as we find someone else to let the place.”

It was obvious Nick was feeling desperate, and Nigel was getting tired of living in that crappy little flat.  Even Alistair and Brad were thinking about moving since the band had made a nice bit of dosh from album sales and their Hammersmith concert.  “Where is it?”

“Near the Tower.  Well, sort of between it and Aldgate.  It’s a nice area, actually.”

How coincidental was that?  Nick’s flat was near the Tower of London, which in turn was near the Tower Bridge, an area he was more than familiar with.  He had gone to the bridge a couple of times in the past few weeks hoping to run into Deanna.  She was right; that bridge did have an almost magical quality.  He was hoping it might work its magic on her so she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

“Oi mate, you’re drifting away again.  Thinking about your lovely Deanna?”

Nigel smiled.  “How soon can I move in?”

Chapter 21

Mims was crying piteously, tapping Deanna's cheek with her paw, trying desperately to wake her.  She pushed the cat away but Mims was determined to wake her mistress for the sole purpose of being fed.  A damp nose pressed against Deanna's temple and when she turned over to shoo the annoying animal off of the bed a sickening pain exploded inside of her head.  She fell back moaning and pressed her pounding temples with both hands.  How much did she have to drink the night before?  It must have been at least a barrel of that strong, pungent lager the Brits loved to drown their sorrows in.  The inside of her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow, tasting something like raw sewage that caused her to gag.  Mims changed tactics and lay next to Deanna, rolling around with little chirps of affection.  She rubbed the cat's belly and tried not think of her pounding head, roiling stomach, and itchy, burning hand but it was impossible.  She finally pushed herself up and out of the bed, her stomach threatening to erupt and her head throbbing with every beat of her heart.

She stumbled down the stairs and knocked on Thom's bedroom door but there was no answer.  She noticed his guitar stand was empty which meant he had gone to meet his band mates to rehearse for their upcoming tour.  It was hard to believe Metal Urge would be on their way to the States in less than two months, leaving her working diligently to graduate so she could return to Arizona.  She wondered if she would ever see England or Metal Urge again.  She wasn’t sure she even wanted to after all of the heartache and devastating loss.  A persistent Mims wound around Deanna's legs, mewling with hunger.  She reached down to scratch the cat's head and groaned when a sickening pain made her slightly dizzy.  Mims followed Deanna into the kitchen meowing loudly until she filled her bowl with a can of reeking cat food that threatened to make her vomit.

Deanna ran to Thom's bathroom and grabbed a bottle of Paracetamol, swallowing four capsules and washing them down with handfuls of tap water that splashed down the front of her T-shirt, soaking the thin material.  Water dripped from her chin as she clutched the sink, trying hard not to be sick.  She thought she could actually hear her head pounding until she realized that the sound was someone knocking at the front door. She stumbled to the front entryway and pulled the door open, blinking a few times at the painfully bright sunlight outlining the emaciated frame of Trevor Hampton.  He had on a heavy trench coat, and Deanna thought he must be burning up in the warm afternoon sunshine.  She stared at him for a few seconds, shading her eyes against the light before Trevor stepped toward her.

“I trust you've seen enough to determine I'm not a stranger.”  He removed his sunglasses.”  May I come in?”

Deanna moved back from the door and he slipped past her into the darkened entryway.  He stared appreciatively at the way the wet T-shirt hugged her sweet little curves.  She crossed her arms over her chest and led him to the living room.  Unsure of what to say, she asked if he would like a cup of tea.  His eyes traveled down her slender frame, stopping to admire her legs which were covered to her mid-thighs by the thin, white cotton shirt.  Water glued the flimsy material against her torso all the way down to the T-shirt’s hem, outlining every detail of her body.  Her face flushed a deep scarlet when she realized she wasn't wearing panties and that little was left to the leering Trevor Hampton's imagination.  “Excuse me while I go upstairs.” She backed up until she reached the stairwell and bounded up the stairs to escape Trevor's lascivious grin.

He smirked at her discomfort while he removed his coat and made himself comfortable on the plush couch.  No doubt Thom was plowing that fertile field as often as he could.  Who could blame him?  Although he had never found Deanna particularly attractive after viewing her numerous attributes he could certainly understand her appeal.  She returned with her long, cascading blonde curls fluffed and shining, fully dressed---including a bra---the little prig.  Trevor had to focus on the matters at hand to keep from laughing in her perfectly flawless face.  As she bit her moist, pink bee-stung lips, looking good enough to eat, he felt a stirring in his groin.  How odd.  He hadn’t felt desire since Maggi surreptitiously spurned him for a roll in the hay with the gallant Nigel Guilford.

“Might I have that cup of tea you so graciously offered, s'il vous plait?”

“Yes, of course,” Deanna said, grateful for the excuse to get away from Trevor’s strange, unsettling demeanor.

When she was safely out of sight, he adjusted his throbbing crotch, trying hard not to dwell on how amazing it would feel to make love to his beautiful Maggi which was precisely the reason he was here.  It wasn't going to be easy to grovel and beg for Deanna’s help---she had never been overly fond of him---but she was his only hope.

Deanna returned with a tray bearing two steaming mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits.  She placed the tray in front of him and settled in an over-stuffed chair across from the couch.  A Persian cat streaked in and jumped on her lap as if guarding her from the lecherous stranger who had invaded their home.  Deanna took careful sips of the hot tea watching Trevor warily.  He thanked her and took a bite of one of the chocolate biscuits followed by a taste of the sweet, milky tea, working up his courage to ask Deanna for a favor she would probably refuse.

“And to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” she asked trying hard to imitate Trevor's acrimonious tone.

He placed his mug on the coffee table and reached into his coat pocket, removing a white envelope.  He turned it over a couple of times before handing it across the table to Deanna.

“What is this?”

“A letter to Maggi,” Trevor said and picked up his mug, trying to be nonchalant even though his hands were trembling.

Deanna frowned at the envelope and tossed it down on the coffee table.  “Why are you giving this to me, Trevor?”

“I want you to deliver it to her.”

Deanna stood up abruptly, clutching Mims to her chest.  The man had no right to ask her to do such a thing.  Surely he knew what had happened between Nigel and Maggi.

“You can't be serious,” she said, a frown wrinkling her pretty brow. 

“Oh, but I am, Deanna.”

She shook her head, picked up the envelope and threw it in his lap.  “I don't see Maggi anymore.”  She smiled ruefully and added, “I'm sure you know why.”

Trevor nodded and continued to drink his tea, fighting the urge to cry out in pain for of all of the emotional damage he had caused during his drug induced madness at Glaston Hall.  “I know that Maggi and Nigel slept together; more than once in fact.”  He looked up at Deanna and she was stunned to see the agony in his eyes.  “As much as I would like to blame that pretentious lout, Nigel Guilford, I have no one to blame but myself.  I drove her straight into his arms with my uncontrolled rage and jealousy.”  Trevor stood up, pulling at his baggy clothing.  “I'm a heroin addict, you see.  The drug fueled my paranoid fantasies, and Maggi bore the brunt of it.  Nigel rescued her, if you will, so it was bound to happen.”

Deanna began to pace, shocked by Trevor's admission to using heroin, but she refused to accept it as an excuse for Maggi and Nigel's betrayal.

She didn't want a reason to forgive them.

Trevor walked over to her and took Mims from her arms, cradling the startled cat gently.  Stroking her silky fur seemed to calm him and give him the courage to reveal what had happened on that fateful night; the night he was more than ready to beat Maggi to a bloody pulp simply because he believed she had flirted with his hated nemesis, Nigel Guilford.

Deanna sat back down in the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to form a wall of protection against her heart.

Cradling Mims, Trevor began his story, leaving out no detail no matter how small and when he was finished Deanna sat in stunned silence.  Trevor gently placed Mims in Deanna’s arms, shrugged on his coat, and left the flat.

The letter lay on the coffee table where he left it in hopes that his story would persuade Deanna to see her old friend again if for no other reason than to give Maggi the letter for his sake.

He walked away from Deanna and Thom's pretty flat situated on its pristine street in the beautiful borough of Chelsea filled with sadness and even a bit of envy.  Gone were the lascivious thoughts and lustful stirrings brought on by Deanna's naive sexual charm; he felt hollow and broken like a discarded puppet.  He hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take him to Elysian Fields straight away.  If he went home there would be no question that he would slide back into his old ways and end his night, or his life, in a heroin haze.  He checked himself into the inappropriately cheerful rehabilitation center as a patient just as he had promised Andy Trent.  Once settled in his room, Methadone coursing through his system, he prayed for the first time in years.  It was a prayer of forgiveness and hope that he would find his way back to the only person he had ever loved in his sick and twisted life: his beautiful Maggi Atwell.

Chapter 22

The bus wound lazily through the maze of streets that made up the Borough of Camden in Northwest London.  Deanna gazed out of the scratched and clouded bus window recalling how exciting her first glimpse of the historical city had been as she and Maggi emerged from Victoria Station almost two years ago.  As an infamous black cab whisked them toward the Student Affairs office near the Houses of Parliament, she truly believed that living in London would be a new start for her.  It would be so much easier to forget who she really was by leaving that shy, awkward, unpopular girl thousands of miles away; then Big Ben chimed and she had begun to cry.  Her emotional reaction was all Maggi needed to callously snap her out of her fantasy.